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COPYRIGHT DEPOSn^ 




Hoagland Memorial Church 



IN HONOR OF 

M 

FOR THIRTY-THREE YEARS 
PASTOR OF THE 

of 3©0ber, jljeto Sietfi^ep 

WITH EXTRACTS FROM FOUR 
OF HIS SERMONS; TO WHICH 
ARE ADDED SIX OF HIS POEMS 




DOVER, NEW JERSEY 

MCMX 



Copyright, 1910, by 
Charles D. Platt 



©CU261099 



IN behalf of the congregation, the Joint Boards 
of the Hoagland Memorial Presbyterian 
Church of Dover, New Jersey, have, through 
their committee, prepared this little book to mark 
the occasion when their pastor, the Rev. William 
Whiteman Halloway, D.D., retires from act- 
ive service. 

Thinking that every member of the church 
might be pleased to possess a keepsake of our 
retiring pastor, we have aimed to make this book 
something that will serve such a purpose, includ- 
ing in it a picture of Dr. Halloway and also of 
his church. But a portrait of the features of one 
whom we have known is incomplete without 
something to represent the inner personality, the 
mind and thought of the one shown in the pic- 
ture, and so it has seemed appropriate to add to 
the picture some portions of the sermons which 
our pastor has addressed to us, and a few of his 
poems, hoping that in this way we shall not only 
secure a more complete portrait, but preserve in 
brief the message of his pastorate. 

Stephen H. Berry 
W. L. R. Lynd 
Charles D. Platt 

Committee 




William Wh item an Hallo v^-av, D.D. 



RESOLUTIONS 



RESOLUTIONS OFFERED BY 
THE SESSION. OCTOBER 21, 1909 



V VI I ^€,tt)e Session of t|)ef|oaglantr 

of ?©ober, jljieto 91erj5e?, m bieto of t|)e action taken 
bp tibe IReberenlr m. t^allotoap, our 
pastor, m resigning dbarge after tt)irtp=fl)ree pears 
of serbwe m ti^is cijurcf), 60 take ti^ts occasion to tp 
press our appreciation of tl)e fitrelftp anli tuebotetrness 
toitl) tot)u{) t)e i)as fulfilled ti)e liuties of l)is ct)arge. 
i^e |)as at all times striben to guitie ti)e affairs of tf)e 
ciurcf) tDitl) toislrom, to mamtam tl)e unit? of tl^e fiUick, 
to toork i)armoniouslp toitl) tl)e gobemmg boUies anft 
tJ)e barious organisations of fibe cl)urcl), ani to iebelop 
anil perfect tl)e organijeO actibfties of tt)e cl)urcl)* 
i^is mmi'strattons m tl)e pulpft anli m religious meet^ 
togs t)abe mamtameli a lebel of earnestness anD 
eflScienc5,t|)at I)as mcreaseli rati)er tl)an liimimslbelr, to 
tl)e present time* l^e l)as preacfteU souna lioctrme, ana 
l)as kept toell abreast of anp important moaifications 
m religious tbougI)t ana sentiment tobicl) mark tl)e pro= 
gress of t|)e times, tof)fle retaining i)i's fiaelttp to t|)e 
great historic aoctrmes of our faitf). 91n t|)ese respects 



mmtistrp l)a5 been an mOuence for tt)t sitealip up= 
ftufltimg of tl)e conjjregation iurtng tf)e past genera^^ 
tton, a pertoU of time t{)at f)as; been pecuttarlp trpmg to 
tl)e cl&urcl) at large becausJeof its tran^sftional d[)ararter. 
^oltcitulie for tbe btj^es^t toelfare of t!)fe rf)urci) 
i)a5 eber been first tboujgfbt, anti neber 
more 50 tf)an noto,toi)en it leabs; i)im to 
urge njion u0 w res;ignatton of bis 
cbarge,tol)aestfllmt^eactibe 
anb unfaltering per= 
formance of 
mmfetrp. 



RESOLUTIONS ADOPTED BY THE 
PRESBYTERY OF MORRIS AND ORANGE 



f^\^t ^^resbpter? Of iHorris anu (J^range 

i^^^ trestres to put on recorlr its sense of ti)t se^ 
nous loss sustameft bp tJ)e !9©entorial CJ)urci) of 
?©ober anlJ tl)e d)urcl) at large bp tbe release of tbe 
JReb* SB. 223. l^allotoap, from tl)e actibe jias= 
torate. ifor, tobtle rejoicmg m t)ts unimpairelJ ftealti) 
ana effictencp ana i)ts continues presence among us, 
toe Deeplp regret tbat it i)as seemefi necessarp for f)m 
to ask for a termination of a relationship bettoeen 
bimself anti bts former charge tbat bas been so ejrcep- 
tionallp pleasant anlr profitable, contributing continue 
ouslp anil mcreasmglp to tbe grototb of tl)e femglrom 
anil ti)t eOification of tbe Idtibv ^f Cbnst. 

i^is bretbren m tbe mmistrp toouia also l^erebp tp 
press tbeir unfeigned gratitude to tbe great i^eali of 
tbe Cburcb for tbe manifest presence of tl)e ^pin't m 
tbe person anli toorfe of tbeir belobeli brotI)er, tobose 
praise is I'n all tbeir cburcbes. i^i's ferbor of spirit^ 
uaWtp, l)is intellectual resources, W uniCarm courtesp 
anil realjmess to be of serbice as long anli as far as 
bis serbices toere requireH, as sl)oton especially bp 



tl)e aebotion anlr jeal toitl) !)e 5tfid)argel)i 
t)fe re^pons^ibtlftp as rt)airman of tl)e Committee on 
^pnotJical l^ome fllpfesitons, make tl)e place t)e fornix 
erlp occtipteti a most liifficult one to filL 
Opon tl)e later penoti of our brotl^^t's mmfete= 
rial life, upon tDt)irt) l)e i)as note enterelr, toe 
tooulli mboke tl)e presence antr potoer 
of tt)at same ^pmt tol)ose fel= 
lotosl)ip anfi rnDtoellmg te 
]^as so long enjopeli 
ana 00 profitably 
emplopei. 



The minute written above was prepared 
by the Rev. T. F. Chambers, committee 
appointed therefor, and adopted by 
Presbytery on January i8, 19 lo. 



EXTRACTS FROM SERMONS 



FROM THE SERMON TO THE HOAGLAND GUARDS, JANUARY 23. 1910 



TRENGTH is a divine gift. By reason of their supple 



muscles, their splendid enthusiasm, their unconquerable 



hopes, their kindling aspirations, their untiring activities, youth 
is richly endowed with strength, 

I hope you will use your strength in service of God and Man. 

That does not mean that you should all be preachers any 
more than that all should be millionaires. 

The Prince of Wales has for his motto," I serve." That is the 
recognition of the fact that, whatever one's position in life, its 
true end is found in service. Whether ploughboy or prince, 
whether merchant or mechanic, you can make your vocation a 
platform on which you shall be useful. He that is least in 
service is greater than the mightiest or wealthiest who lives only 
for self. The poorest plough is better than a silver toy. David 
said he enjoyed being a doorkeeper. That is a lowly office, 
but may be a useful one. Be useful, serve your fellows, glorify 
God wherever you can. 

The great need of to-day in our land is consecrated young 
men. A cry is going up from every quarter : " Give us men 
with unselfish aims, men of integrity, men of power for good." 

Never was there a greater opportunity than yours. Phillips 



"The glory of young men is their strength. 



Proverbs 20: 2g. 




1:133 



Brooks, just before he died, said to a young man, *'The future 
belongs to young men. I wish I was a young man, there are 
such opportunities before you." 

But the youth who will fulfil these opportunities must be 
something more than an athlete or fop or jockey or pettyfogger 
or boss. He must feel a sense of responsibility for his strength, 
he must wield his strength in the service of moral and spiritual 
ideas. 

On Chinese Gordon's monument in London is graven, **At 
all times and everywhere he gave his strength to the weak, his 
substance to the poor, his sympathy to the suffering, his heart 
to God." Such words are worthy to be written in letters of 
light over the portals of the future of the youths of to-day. 
May God help you to carry them out in your own lives. 



1:143 



A SERMON PREACHED BY W. W. HALLOWAY, D.D., ON THE THIRTY-THIRD AN- 
NIVERSARY OF HIS PASTORATE OF THE MEMORIAL PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, 
DOVER, N. J., SUNDAY, OCTOBER 3, 1909. PUBLISHED BY THE SESSION 



Cptstles: 

"Ye are our epistle, written in our hearts, known 
and read of all men: forasmuch as ye are manifestly 
declared to be the epistle of Christ ministered by us." 

2d Corinthians, 2, j. 

CHRISTIANS are epistles of Christ. A letter is a written 
communication from one person to another. It is some- 
times the only convenient or possible vi^ay for conveying infor- 
mation. Before the telegraph and telephone, the letter w^as a 
more important means of intercourse than now^ ; but, even still, 
the mail is used by most people a hundred times w^here the 
telegraph is used once. For tidings from those who are away 
from home, for intercourse between distant friends, we look 
eagerly and gladly for our letters. 

The prime characteristic of a letter is that it contains the mind 
of the writer, is intended to convey to him who receives it the 
purposes and plans of the writer. It is a substitute for the 
writer's own person, and is meant to put the man himself before 
the correspondent. 

Christians as Christ's epistles are to represent the mind of 
Christ, to exhibit in their lives the plain handwriting of the 
Lord, so that when men look on them there shall be no doubt 
of what the power of Jesus is, and what the plenitude of His 

CIS] 



grace and beauty. Christ wants each of His disciples to be a 
new gospel, added to the ones given to the world by Matthew 
and Mark and Luke and John. He would have them convey 
to men the tidings of His salvation. He would use them to 
acquaint the world with His will. He would make them bearers 
of the message of God reconciled to the world in Christ. 

How needful that these living epistles should be in large and 
clear characters. For not only does the world wait to read us, 
but Christ wants us to be read by the world, and in such a way 
that He shall not be misunderstood. Some manuscripts, you 
know, are so badly written that it is only with great difficulty 
they can be deciphered. Sometimes an expert has to be called 
in to make out the meaning. A Christian's life should not be 
ambiguous. It should not be of such a nature that men are at 
a loss to judge it. 

It should be so clear, so bold, so well defined, that he who 
runs may read. There is a kind of writing that even the blind 
can read. The letters are raised from the surface of the ma- 
terial so as to be sensible to the touch of the fingers. The 
blind person who cannot see their shape or color, can run the 
fingers over them and very quickly read in that way. Such is 
the kind of epistles Christians should aim to be, their characters 
so sharply defined that the most defective reader shall be com- 
pelled by contact with them to acknowledge that they are 
Christ's, and manifest Christ's spirit. 

Are you such epistles of Christ, brethren ? Are you obedient 
to Christ's will when He would avail Himself of your hearts and 
lives to make known His gospel to men ? Are your lives bear- 
ing a message of Christ to the world ? What does the world 
read when it peruses your conduct? Does it see the divine 
handwriting blurred and blotted, many lines missing ? Does it 
get a wrong conception, or a right conception of Christ and His 
gospel from you ? 



It is claimed that character can be told by the handwriting. 
Whether this be true or not, it is certain that the lives which 
come under our influence are an index of our disposition and 
aims. The most essential thing over which man has power is 
soul ; the grandest influence which man exerts is that by which 
he molds character. And so the surest way to judge what this 
man really is, is by considering how he aff'ects souls, what kind 
of character springs up in the atmosphere he makes, the way 
in which the drama of life of which he is the author develops 
its actors. 

Ministers not only cannot escape this kind of test but must 
in a peculiar sense submit themselves to it. The effect of their 
preaching, the influence of their lives are the criterions by which 
they must be judged. Whether they are scholars or not, 
whether they have graces of manner or not, whether they are 
eloquent in speech or not, whether they are correct in creed or 
not; nay, whether they are deeply pious or not, the one essen- 
tial element and qualification must be work for man in behalf 
of Christ. 

Happy, indeed, are they who can point to their charges as 
proof of their faithfulness, who can say as they refer to their 
moral rectitude, and blameless joy, and earnest zeal, and pure 
love, "ye are manifestly declared to be the epistle of Christ's 
minister by us." 



FROM A SERMON DELIVERED FEBRUARY 6, 1910 



' ' Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, 
whose mind is stayed on thee." 

Isaiah 26 : j, 

UNREST and dissatisfaction with life characterize our 
times. They seem to be in the air, so that we breathe 
them in continually. Watch the movements of people and see 
what hurry and anxiety they express. Note the conversation 
of people and see how much of it is made up of complaining 
and discontent. Observe the persons of people and see how 
bent forms, premature gray hairs, heavy steps, and wrinkled 
brows, indicative of anxiety and worrying, prevail. 

Half the world seems to live disappointed, thwarted, uncon- 
genial lives. They are weighted with the problems of exist- 
ence, with the responsibilities of manhood, with the cares of the 
present and the forebodings of the future. They speed their 
machinery to the utmost, they stretch the silver cord till it 
snaps, they put pressure on the boiler till it bursts. New ex- 
citement, new pleasures, new work, new countries, new objects 
of pursuit are continually sought. Business becomes a kind of 
exciting gambling. Home is exchanged for the glitter and 
revelry of society. Even religion must offer something sensa- 
tional. 

The idea of peace, of tranquillity, of quiet, seems to have 

ni8] 



been lost or to be looked upon as an impossible dream. Just 
in proportion to men's experience of life is their disbelief that 
it can be possessed. 

Yet it cannot be said that the desire for it has been destroyed. 
Peace is, indeed, the one thing most ardently craved. How 
blessed, then, the promise of the text, in which it is declared 
not only that peace may be obtained, but that God bestows it 
on every one whose mind is stayed on Him. Thou wilt keep 
him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee." To have 
peace is to have contention cease, to come into harmony with 
another. It is the object of the gospel to accomplish this 
peace, this harmony between God and man. Christ is " our 
peace." *'God was in Christ reconcihng the world to himself." 
Let us lay it to heart that the essential of peace in the experi- 
ence is peace with God. 

It is inward peace. It is not the absence of trial and pain 
and loss. It is not brought about by a change in the outer 
conditions and circumstances. The mistake which men gener- 
ally make when they think of and long for peace, is in their con- 
ception of it as freedom from all opposing and distressing things. 
But it is impossible to escape such things in this world. Cer- 
tainly Christ has not promised such exemption. His word is, 
on the contrary, In the world ye shall have tribulation." He 
sends His disciples out into the world as sheep among wolves. 
Yet at the same time He promises peace. And it is a peace not 
succeeding trial, but a peace in the midst of trial. ''In the 
world ye shall have tribulation : in me ye have peace." 

How was it with Christ ? No one lived a life so full of trial as 
He. He was *'a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief." 
** He was oppressed and afflicted." The contradiction of sinners 
was brought in full force upon Him, His public career from be- 
ginning to end was one of outward difficulties and deprivations. 
Yet none so calm and commanding as He. Amid all that 

ni93 



scathes and smites He walked with a step more august than a 
Caesar's to his coronation, and passed to death even with heart 
as high as a bridegroom's to his wedding. In the moment when 
the nails were driven through His dear hands He prayed for 
His murderers. In the midst of His own sufferings He had a 
thought for others and found opportunity to promise heaven to 
the penitent thief, and to command His mother to the care of 
His beloved apostle. Dying a cruel death, its shadows could 
not invade His heart, where peace " fresh as morning and 
tender as eve" abode in perennial beauty, because from it a 
path was open like a shaft of light to the heart of all comfort. 

So we see that this peace is a matter of trust. The condi- 
tion attached to it is faith. Faith remains ever conscious of 
God, and when outer circumstances attempt to rule the soul 
faith responds, "It shall not be." Faith asserts its power, 
through all difficulties, with the calmness of absolute conviction, 
and then there are quiet and peace in their perfect fulfilment. 
From all enemies faith turns to God and finds its home in His 
heart. 

This peace is also perfect. It is perfect in the sense of being 
real and true. There is a peace which is but stagnation. 
There is a peace which goes by the name of an " armed peace." 
There are imitations of peace which men of the world possess. 
Some shut themselves in from all disturbing influences and in 
absolute retirement enjoy a sense of quiet and security. Some 
cultivate the indifference of the misanthrope to all the world's 
happenings and all the world's woes. Some, through culture, 
obtain an intellectual composure of mind. Some benumb their 
conscience with continued sinning till at length it leaves them 
in a state of undisturbed moral atrophy. Some defy fate with 
stoical coolness and calmness. There is an absence of fear, 
and there is a lack of excitement, which are not the peace 
which God gives, but only the peace of forgetfulness or of stag- 

[203 



nation. Perfect peace is that in which souls rest because they 
are kept in it by God Himself. He produces in their souls, as 
the chief safeguard of their tranquillity, a childlike confidence in 
His personal love for them. 

Peace does not mean cessation of activities. On the con- 
trary, it means all the faculties and powers in most vigorous 
and normal use. One reason wh)^ we fail in our work is that 
we fret over it so much, that we engage in it lacking that ab- 
solute trust in God which is the root of peace, and hence of 
power. 

"Faith means, in the last resort, the assurance that God can 
work miracles — that He is greater than all the powers of evil 
and can overcome them even when they are entrenched in 
nature ; that He is here, in the omnipotence of grace, to do the 
very things which to nature seem impossible." 

But this peace is perfect peace also, because it is complete 
peace. The peace which God gives leaves nothing to be desired. 
As a garrison seizes and retains possession of a stronghold, so 
the peace of God takes military possession of the soul and 
drives off all assailants. This is not to say that it will not be 
assailed. This is not to say that it will never be disturbed. 
But assailing and disturbing do but afford occasions for its 
triumph. You may assail me with arguments respecting the 
truth of religion, you may shame me with charges of unfaith- 
fulness, you may take away friends and dear ones, but my faith 
in religion is not lost, my knowledge of Christ's ability to cover 
all my sins is not stolen, the light need not go out of my heart. 
I may feel, I may grieve, but I do not fret, I am not made 
wretched. The peace of God, which passeth all understanding, 
keeps my mind and heart in the knowledge and love of God. 
Therefore men cannot successfully capture it. Therefore the 
world cannot overthrow it. It is God-given and therefore 
God-kept. 

n2i3 



According to your faith shall it be unto you. Believe in 
a perfect love at the heart of things, believe that God is able to 
do exceeding abundantly above all that you desire, believe that 
all things work together for good, believe with simple and 
childlike trust even when there is no sign, no light, no triumph, 
and you shall enter into rest. 

A man's mind cannot be made subject to another man's mind 
against his will. Neither can his soul be at one with God 
against his will. But if we are willing, if we have faith, if we 
will put ourselves in His hands, then we may be so brought 
under the influence of the divine will that we shall think God's 
thoughts, and see things as God sees them, and possess the joy 
and peace which God wills shall be ours, even that joy and 
peace which are God's own forever and ever. 



FROM A SERMON PREACHED FEBRUARY 13, 1910 



%f^t f mmortalitp of Wiox'k 



" Pilate answered, What I have written I have written. 



Jokn ig: 22. 




HERE is a view of immortality held by a certain class of 



JL minds which may be designated as race immortality. 
Personal immortality is denied and this other is accepted 
in its place. According to this view, man as a personality 
ceases to be at death, but man as man continues through the 
ages. Individuals die and are buried and return to dust. 
They pass into nothingness. The soul, if there be a soul, is 
extinguished alike with the body. But the race abides from 
generation to generation in uninterrupted sequence. Man as 
a species is never extinct. In this permanence of the race is 
to be found the only immortality of being. Each individual 
who lives upon the earth contributes something, be it more or 
less, to the great stock of race ideas and progress and wealth 
and power. When he dies he passes into the oblivion from 
which he came at birth, but lives still in whatever he has done 
for the race. His gifts have become part of the abiding pos- 
session of all succeeding generations. 

There is not much to fascinate in this theory. It has been 
likened to the immortality of the insects which build up the 
coral islands. They live and labor and die just as men are held 
to do. Millions upon millions of them come and go every year, 



1:233 



each one of all the millions contributing its share to the reef 
where they live. And that abides. It grows through the years 
by means of the labors of the insects which, having done their 
work, cease to be. The workers pass away, but their work is 
permanent. The work represents the workmen. As long as the 
island stands there amid the waters whose tides wash its shores, so 
long the insect builders of the island may be said to live. They 
have died, but their sepulcher is their everlasting monument. 

Such immortality can hardly meet the yearnings and aspira- 
tions of the human heart. It does not satisfy our sense of what 
is right and due to the dignity and glory of man. We want 
more than this — far more. Nothing but the indestructibility 
of the human spirit and the carrying over death of the person- 
ality — the me^ that which lives and studies and works here — 
will content us. We want, not less of life — a life swallowed 
up in the world-structure, a life without the possession of any 
conscious power, a life, in fact, contradicting all our notions of 
life — we want not such a corporate, indefinite, unconscious life, 
but better life, life more abundant, life pulsating with our grow- 
ing capacity, life irradiated with the divine presence, life glori- 
fied and transfigured. 

Nevertheless, there is a truth here not to be sHghted. We 
cannot accept this kind of immortality in place of a personal 
existence. But we may take it as a truth by itself and some- 
thing to be added to the immortality of being. 

The Bible teaches both. It promises unending life in "the 
city in whose homes there is no more sin, and without whose 
gates there is no God's acre." But it also teaches that there 
is an immortality of work. Our influence does not cease when 
we leave the earth. The eff"ects of what we are and of what we 
do abide with men from generation to generation. Our works 
do follow us. Being dead, we yet speak through our posthu- 
mous influence and our remembered achievements. 

1:243 



Something like this truth is suggested by our text. I do 
not mean that Pilate, when he spoke the words, had any such 
far-reaching idea in his mind. He merely meant to intimate 
to the Jews that he would not change his act. He had put 
upon the cross of Jesus the inscription, King of the Jews." 
The Jewish priests wanted him to put instead, "Jesus said, I 
am King of the Jews." But Pilate, who had yielded to them 
too much already as against his conscience, was determined not 
to yield any more. ''What I have written I have written," 
he said. His action must stand. And it did stand. It has 
stood for more than Pilate ever dreamed. His act is indelibly 
written on the pages of history. He wrote that day not only 
the inscription for the cross of Jesus, but his own epitaph. 
What he did that day has had its influence upon the world 
ever since. 

And so his words may be taken as setting forth a tremen- 
dous fact. Whatever we have written by our acts is written 
for all time. The little girl, nameless and humble, who was 
the means of sending Naaman to the prophet of the Lord to be 
healed of his leprosy, and the lad, nameless and poor, who 
furnished the loaves and fishes for Christ, by which He wrought 
the miracle of feeding the five thousand, are alive to-day and 
preaching to all of what may be accomplished by the youngest 
and the most obscure. The woman who anointed Jesus' feet 
and wiped away her penitent tears with the hair of her head is 
remembered to-day as if it were but now that she performed 
her loving act — and every deed of self-sacrifice and every 
gift of consecration which has been brought out by reading her 
story is a tribute to its immortality. Andrew, who went to 
bring his brother Simon Peter to Jesus, still speaks to every 
one who has found the Saviour precious to his own soul ; and 
every one, through all these centuries, who has gone with a 
pure and loving purpose to bring his fellows to the Lamb of 



God in imitation of the fisherman of Galilee, is multiplying 
and reduplicating over and over again that life. Our work 
lives after us. Into the phonograph of life go the records made 
by what we do, and these will unroll themselves for men to 
read long after our tongues lie silent in the grave. 

" Not myself, but the truth that in life I have spoken ; 
Not myself, but the seed that in life I have sown 
Shall pass on to ages — all about me forgotten, 

Save the truth I have spoken, the deeds I have done." 

And now, how ought this great truth to affect us? 

Surely it should give earnestness and solemnity to our life 
purposes. It ought to make us watchful of the kind of influence 
we set in motion. The good or evil we do lives after us, and 
shall go through the years, multiplying blessings or scattering 
curses along " the broadening furrows of the generations." 
How this enlarges and solemnizes the idea of accountability. 
We are responsible for what we do while we live, of course. 
But we do not cease doing when we cease to live. Our influence 
is not limited to our bodily presence. We go on shaping 
characters and molding events after we have left the scenes of 
our living influence. It is as if we wrote some things in ordin- 
ary ink, which appear at once for what they are, and other 
things in invisible ink, which will be known after some other 
process has brought it all out. The total, ultimate result of 
each life can be told only when the books shall be opened at 
the end of the dispensation. With some of us the influence 
we exert after death may be even greater than that which we 
had in life. It is not an unusual phenomenon .^or streams that 
had their source in life to swell and strengthen their current after 
death. Many a boy who laughed at his mother's counsels while 
she could speak them has made those counsels his monitor when 
the lips were sealed forever. Many a one who could resist all 



the different appeals made to him by living persons has melted, 
like the snow at the first breath of a summer sun, before the 
waxen face and closed eyes and body arrayed for burial of a 
little child. Even Jesus was not so powerful to move men 
when moving in bodily presence among them as Jesus since He 
has been crucified and since He disappeared from human vision. 
" It is expedient for you that I go away," He said to His 
disciples. His going away meant the Spirit's coming. So 
Elijah's going away meant Elisha's coming, with a double por- 
tion of Elijah's power. Often one's going away in body means 
one's coming again with greater power to impress the world 
with one's peculiar mission. What an enlarged view of ac- 
countability such a fact opens up ! Character increasing in 
power through the generations ! The streams of influence which 
we have sent out converging and multiplying in volume as they 
pass on and on toward the sea of glass around the throne of 
God! 

Men and brethren, let us ask ourselves afresh. What is the 
nature of the work we are doing ? What deeds are we writing 
with pens of iron in the rock? What is the character of the 
influence which, when death comes, will become our everlasting 
remembrance ? Ought we not to be sober and vigilant ? Ought 
we not to try to make every day something that we will not 
be ashamed nor afraid to have put into the records of immor- 
tality ? 

But this truth of the immortality of work may be a great 
comfort and satisfaction also. " A man soon becomes obso- 
lete." Our life is so brief and insecure," said Augustine, 
" that I know not whether to call it a dying life or a living 
death." "We fly forgotten as a dream." But there is a way 
to build up a memorial for ourselves, and that is to build in 
some work. It is he that loses his life, in the sense of devoting 
it to the welfare of others, who gains it in the sense of ever- 

C273 



lasting remembrance. " No true word is spoken, no holy deed 
done, that is not done forever." We seek for usefulness, and im- 
mortality follows : the immortality, mark you, not of a name, not 
of a reputation, but of a work into which we have built ourselves. 

There is a great truth in what, I think. Bishop Brooks said : 
" It is one's duty to strive faithfully and tirelessly to render 
one's self useless." That sounds like a paradox, but what is 
meant is that one should strive to do his work in such a manner 
that, if he be called away from it, the work will go on as well 
without him as with him. 

A minister should aim to build up his church so that his 
leaving will bring no hurt to the progress of the work nor re- 
quire any great paroxysm of change in its operations. " The 
measure of a great and good man's power," says one, *'is just 
the facility with which, when he is gone, the world can get 
along without him." 

" What if our labor seems wasted? 

What if, of all we have sown, 

Never ripe fruit we have tasted, 

Never glad harvesting known ! 

Others, in brighter to-morrows, 

Lifting glad songs to the morn. 

Richly may reap from our furrows — 

Ripened, though we shall be gone : 

Not to ourselves are we living, 

Not to ourselves do we die, 

Freely receiving as giving, 

Soul after soul marches by. 

Part of one mighty procession, 

Stretching from Eden's first dawn, 

On through long curves of progression, 

Till in the future 't is gone, 

Gone from earth's ken, past heart-beat, past breath. 
Into the life that is miscalled death." 



POEMS 



I 



ILojSt 

Papa has lost his baby ! 

Where has his baby gone ? 
A ship went saiHng seaward, 

Has she been smuggled on ? 

Papa has lost his baby ! 

Where can his baby be ? 
Perhaps some wind has caught her 

And whisked her up a tree ! 

Papa has lost his baby — 

His baby's pretty laugh, 
And all that broken prattle 

He understood but half. 

What has become of baby ? 

Does anybody know 
What cruel thing induced her 

To leave her papa so ? 

Why, she 's become a lady, 

A lady very grand. 
With all the airs and graces 

Of any in the land. 

She don't care any longer 

To sit in papa's lap ; 
Why, she has walked a fortnight 

And met with no mishap. 



She don't want any riding 
To-day on papa's knee; 

To see her feign importance, 
You 'd think her some grandee. 

So papa 's lost his baby, 
He feels it every hour; 

But then you know it 's certain 
The bud must grow a flower. 

That 's what 's become of baby, 

Of papa's baby dear : 
She 's grown to be a lady — 

And it 's very, very queer. 



Cleanmg i^ouge 

Taking up the carpets, 

Beating out the dust, 
Not because they need it. 

Custom says we must ; 
Floors all bare a fortnight. 

Looking very queer, 
Bless me ! this is pleasant. 

Cleaning house each year ! 

Tables piled like mountains 

In the sitting-room. 
Turn which way you please, sir. 

Something 's sure to loom. 
Stepping day and night-time 

With a wholesome fear. 
Oh, but this is horrid, 

Cleaning house each year ! 

Breakfast rather scanty. 

Have n't time to eat. 
Dinner cold and meagre— 

No fire to cook the meat. 
Tea so long preparing. 

You think *t will ne'er appear, 
One needs an angel's patience. 

When they clean each year ! 

1:33] 



Painting in the parlor, 

Want to look our best ; 
Pap'ring in the bedrooms, 

Don't go there for rest ! 
The house all topsy-turvy, 

In desperation sheer, 
I vow to go to Europe 

In cleaning time, next year ! 

Doors and windows open, 

Damp the air and chill. 
Stoves removed to garret, 

Everybody ill ; 
That amounts, however. 

To nothing, it is clear ; 
For, whatever happens. 

We 're bound to clean each year ! 



l34l 



ptsivn for iS>uv J^eaa 

"We must not pray for our beloved dead," 
So I have often heard it strangely said ; 
Yet those who thus insist must ne'er have known 
What longing thoughts will follow still our own 
Beyond the grave — or else are not aware 
What constitutes the truest, holiest prayer. 

We may not pray, indeed, for them as those 
Who yet are subject to our mortal woes. 
Nor e'en as those who are dependent still 
Upon our prayers their cup of joy to fill. 
But prayer is different from begging, quite : 
It is the spirit reaching heavenly height ; 
It is an aspiration, often known 
As aspiration to the soul alone ; 
It is the burden of the longing heart, 
Which seeks by telling it to God to part 
With some of it;— it is communion, soul 
Communing with the Soul that fills the whole. 

If then, whene'er we pray, our hearts are filled 
With yearnings for the one whose voice is stilled 
In death, and who, though passed beyond our s 
We picture dwelling in the realm of light— 
And if our pain and sense of aching loss. 
While kneeling thus alone before the cross. 
Shall find an utterance in the longing cry : 
*'0 God, my loved one ! keep her ever nigh 
To Thee, and let Thy gracious love surround 
Her person, glorified through all the round 
Of heaven's life,"— if one Hke this should pray. 
Will any chide, or any bid him nay ? 



nasi 



I have not in my grief refused 

To drink the bitter cup, 
And yet within my heart I know 

I cannot give them up. 

As real as they ever were, 

They are in memory ; 
And in my every thought of them 

They yet belong to me. 

'T was God who gave them unto me, 
Love's joy through them to learn; 

And are not all the gifts of God 
To men without return ? 

If for a while He bids them stay 

In His abode divine, 
'T is only that I may receive 

Them more than ever mine ! 

Mine ! Mine ! Forever they are mine, 

By love supremest given : 
Mine while they were earth's light to me, 

And mine to-day in heaven ! 



C^ie SLnximsi leaf 



Once on a time a little leaf 
Was seen to bow its head with grief. 
Then said the branch on which it grew, 
"My little leaf, what troubles you ?" 

The leaf to this made sad reply— 
"A wind just now went moaning by, 

And as it passed croaked in my ear, 
'You may not long enjoy life here.' " 

The branch told this unto the tree, 
Which whispered back immediately, 
"My pretty leaf, you need not fear, 
For you shall stay all summer here. 
And when the time has come to go. 
You will not want to stay, I know." 

And so the leaf its murmuring ceased. 
And from its care was well released. 
Then autumn came, and all around 
The leaves with richest tints were crowned. 

Oh, how they sparkled, all arrayed 
In robes of every ravishing shade ! 
And when the leaf asked what it meant, 
Down from the tree reply was sent : 

1:37] 



The leaves are ready now to go, 
And in their joy they sparkle so." 
No more the leaf desired to stay, 
It grew more beautiful each day : 

Until a gentle puff of wind 
Came up so softly from behind, 
That, thinking it was all in play, 
The leaf h: ' go and flew away. 

A while in air it whirled around, 
Then gently fell upon the ground, 
And now, where fairies vigil keep. 
It rests in happy, dreamless sleep. 



1:383 



jl^ot ail in min 



The bud may never grow to flower, 

But as a bud it still is fair, 
And while it lives its hopeful hour 

It pours its perfume on the air. 

You say you have not reached your aim, 
That all your work has been in vain, 

You are unknown to men by name. 

Your struggle has but brought you pain. 

But not in vain, O friend ! has been 
The ceaseless longing in your soul ; 

Which, though indeed it could not win 
A place on fame's exclusive scroll. 

Did yet your lonely life inspire 

To follow nobly duty's creed. 
And was the ever-kindling fire 

'Neath dim and disappointing deed. 

'T is false that life no guerdon brings. 
Except when men their wish attain ; 

The deep desire for nobler things 

Has priceless worth, though it be vain. 



1:393 



Cc]boe0 of a IrOng pastorate 

t876 * 1909 



floaglantj iHemortal Cl^urct) 



I 



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